


References

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Conversations in a Turkish Bath, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that the case is over, Watson wants Holmes to answer a few questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	References

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #22: **The Bard** : We can't have a challenge without a little Shakespeare. Use a quote, a reference, or the man himself - it's all up to you.  
>  **Warnings** : References to an undocumented and rather disturbing case; Victorian men sitting in a steam-room talking. **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
>  

  
  
  
“How did you know, Holmes? You seemed entirely dismissive of the headmistress’ case at first.” It was a question that had puzzled me from the start, when Miss Brand came to our sitting-room at 221B with her tale of mysterious gifts, letters, and other anonymous happenings at her boarding-school. What had appeared on the surface to be at worst a case of overzealous, misplaced attentions had proven anything but. Now, after the harrowing events, I finally ventured to give voice to my confusion while relaxing in the steam-room of our favorite Turkish establishment.  
  
“And so I was.” Holmes was just barely visible in the thick steam of the room, though we sat side-by-side on one of the marble benches against the walls. Save for ourselves, we were alone in the room, for we were well outside the usual bathing hours of the place. We had both done the owner and his family favors over the years, however, Holmes with his detective work, and I as a doctor; and so we had entrée at nearly any hour we wished.  
  
“What, then, convinced you otherwise?” For it had been a most grave situation indeed. The anonymous admirer had been none other than the assistant riding-master, an apparently harmless older gentleman who had stolen his references from another, entirely blameless man, and who had designed to commit the most serious injury a man had to offer a woman on one of the unmarried teachers at the school. He had not yet picked out his victim, which gave us time to circumvent him and bring him to a more final justice than might have been available through the law. He had not saddled the horse properly on which he attempted his hurried escape, and he had broken his neck in the fall. Horribly, we had all too much evidence that he had successfully completed his crime against possibly as many as a dozen other women in other places.  
  
“The poems.”  
  
I blinked, trying to recall what they had been. The heat was finally starting to ease some of my aching muscles. “The handwritten copies of Shakespeare’s sonnets left for three of the teachers?”  
  
Holmes nodded, the movement sending eddies swirling in the white fog of warm mist that surrounded us. “Specifically, the first thirteen sonnets. They are undoubtedly romantic, when whispered by a young man in the latter stages of wooing a girl to wife; but they look rather more sinister when given to three women who have steadfastly proclaimed their satisfaction – and in the case of Miss Stevens, her decided preference – with independent spinsterhood.”  
  
I had read them before the case, but had examined them more closely as part of the evidence brought by Miss Brand. Even as tired and half-relaxed as I was, it took little effort to call their lines to mind. “Oh. Oh, I see.” It was a twisted mind indeed who could turn the words of our greatest poet to such base meaning, much less see them as an argument for forcing himself on the unwilling. I grimaced.  
  
“Yes, it is a dreadful thing.” As always, Holmes read my mood despite the veiling shroud of steam. “But he will harm no one else.”  
  
“Thanks to you,” I acknowledged freely, and then continued my thought, the heat and humidity loosing my tongue before I could think better of it. “I’m surprised you knew them offhand, though, well enough to see the possible threat.” Too late, I realized how that must sound, and braced myself for umbrage.  
  
Holmes, however, is a more relaxed and mellow man in the Turkish bath than almost anywhere else. He merely tilted his head, considering. “You mean my practice of only remembering facts and knowledge that might be of use in my profession, and not cluttering my brain-attic with literature, I suppose,” he said tolerantly.  
  
“Well, yes.” If I had not already been red with the warmth in the room, I am sure I would have flushed.  
  
“For almost any other writer, your hypothesis would probably be correct, Watson.” Holmes sighed and leaned back against the wall, his shoulder brushing mine as he moved. He turned his head to look at me fully, and I could just see the fond amusement in his expression. “But I am an Englishman as well as a detective, and Shakespeare is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct, no matter how otherwise well-disciplined one’s mind.”  
  
Something about his words struck me as oddly familiar. I noted it, but put it aside for the moment. “You are of course quite right, Holmes, about his universal appeal. And I have heard you quote from enough other great thinkers that I should not have been surprised at your immediate recall of his works.”  
  
“Quite.” If anything, there seemed to be even more amusement in Holmes’ voice than before, but that did not allay my feeling of having done him an injustice, and I told him so.  
  
“Never mind, my dear fellow,” he reassured me. “I took no offense. We are both tired, and we have seen such things today as would excuse far worse behavior than any you have ever offered.” He rose from the bench and extended his hand to me. “Come, let us take the plunge into the cold pool, finish our ablutions, and return to Baker Street. I believe I am just about ready for a good meal.”  
  
We did as he suggested, and it was not until many days later that I remembered our conversation, and his strangely-familiar words about Shakespeare. It took me several trips to the library and the booksellers to track down the quotation, but when I did, my eyebrows rose nearly to my hairline.  
  
Shakespeare I should have expected Holmes to know well enough to quote offhand and remember the meaning of his words. But Jane Austen?  
  
My friend is indeed a mystery.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 22, 2013.  
> “ _But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately._ ” – Henry Crawford, _Mansfield Park_


End file.
